


torn apart

by izzybeejones



Category: Original Work, Supernatural
Genre: Angel Powers, Demons Are Assholes, F/F, F/M, Falling In Love, Family Secrets, Father-Daughter Relationship, Heartbreak, Heavy Angst, Hunters & Hunting, Love Confessions, Mutual Pining, Vessels
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-11
Updated: 2017-07-11
Packaged: 2018-11-30 15:54:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11466813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/izzybeejones/pseuds/izzybeejones
Summary: Charlotte Price's mother died in a car accident when she was 7. She always figured that that was the only strange thing that was going to happen in her life.She was definitely wrong - though, in many ways, she wasn't.





	torn apart

**Author's Note:**

> ummMMM guess who's starting another story!!  
> i promise i'm going to continue my others, i'm just trying to get back into the writing groove with this....  
> and it's an original work, which kinda scares me to put out there, but i hope you guys enjoy!  
> it's set in the supernatural universe, kinda, though technically it could just be a similar universe since none of the main characters are ever mentioned.  
> if you have any questions, please let me know!!!
> 
> also the romance drama is gonna come later ;)

He felt like he was suffocating.

Maybe it was the pouring rain (thick and heavy, as if trying to drown him), or the overwhelming emotion (miserable and burdensome, an unwelcome weight settling in his heart and lungs), but, he supposes, it doesn’t really matter. Nothing matters now, not since the “accident,” not since he lost everything. Now there’s only laser-focus and a driving determination pushing him forward. He doesn’t care about the exhaustion rushing through his body, or the agony tearing him apart from the inside out. He has a job to do, a duty.

Besides, he knows it will all be over soon.

Forcing his shovel into the ground, he’s almost thankful for the rain. Normally it’s hard and difficult to penetrate, but the mud is easier to deal with. It makes the whole process take much less time - not that he notices the passing of time anymore, or anything outside of his own bubble of grief. When the hole is finished, he drops the box in, then sets to covering it up. It’s when he’s patting the lump in the ground with his shovel that he hears her.

“Well hello, Mr. Price. What a surprise,” she says, voice smooth like silk, but there’s an edge of falseness to it. As he turns to her, seemingly forgetting the shovel as it falls from his hands, he knows that her voice is meant to draw a false sense of security out of him. Just like her ethereal beauty, her soft, dark skin, her shining eyes, and her seemingly perfect hair (which remains unaffected by the rain - which is honestly more disconcerting than comforting) are meant to relax him.

He doesn’t feel secure, though. He hasn’t felt secure for weeks, and even less so the past few days. 

She seems to notice his unfazed reaction, his still-tense shoulders, and she blinks, the whites of her eyes filling with red. Then it’s gone, though there is still some danger to be found in them. But still, she smiles, as if he’s an old friend and this reunion has been long awaited for.

Maybe it has. Maybe this moment had been pre-planned by the universe, the outcome of this encounter decided eons ago.

None of that is comforting either.

“C’mon then, big boy, tell me what you want,” she says, a teasing lilt to her voice, and he finds himself unable to look at her, eyes screwing together tightly.

“You know what I want,” he mutters through gritted teeth.

“Oh, do I?” she asks with a tinkling laugh. “Hmm… I’m guessing it has to do with your  _ friends _ , here. Though, I gotta say, they aren’t looking too hot…” He grimaces, eyes flying open to glare at her. Her eyes meet his, and he gets the vague feeling that she’s trying to get to him, pushing to see how long it will take him to give. She chuckles softly, striding closer to him, exuding grace with her every movement. It’s odd how much it repulses him, and it takes everything he has to not step back.

She steps to one side, crouching slightly to brush her fingers over one of the two black bags on the ground, as he stands between them, watching her warily. She lets out a low whistle.

“What did the bad man do to you, poor baby?” she murmurs, and he balls his fists tight as his side.

“Can you bring them back or not?” he demands, feeling anger surging through his veins. “I have no time for your stupid games.” She stands slowly gaze cold as she turns back to him.

“You know the price, right?”

“Of _course_ , I know the price. Just _do it_ already.” Her eyes flash dangerously, and he swallows hard, suddenly nervous. Then her smile is back, though the effect now is eery.

“Sorry. I can’t,” she says, and though her tone is light and sweet, they still sound hollow to his ears. He’s about to be sick when she adds, “Well… not both of them, at least.” He stares at her in the silence that follows, his red-rimmed eyes confused. Her smile grows. “You have to choose which one you want to save. Everyone else’s memories of this moment will be erased, but you… you have to live with this choice forever.”

“You evil bitch,” he finds himself saying before he realizes, and her eyes narrow, smile turning more aggressive. He takes an involuntary step backwards, narrowly avoiding stumbling over the second bag.

“And what did you expect? Lollipops and sunshine? You knew what you were getting yourself into when you summoned me here. This is darkness,  _ sweetheart _ , and you chose it. Now make your damn pick -  _ I have no time for your stupid games _ ,” she replies, tone turning mocking as she shoots back what he’d said a few moments earlier.

His shoulders drop in defeat as his eyes turn to the bags. This is an impossible choice - after all, who can truly pick between the love of their life and their own child? Who could ever choose which one deserves to live more? He hates himself, and hates that the choice isn’t so impossible when he thinks it over. God, he feels sick.

“Charlotte,” he mutters, eyes falling shut. “I choose Charlotte.”


End file.
